Somnus
by MockingbirdSoul
Summary: Lies were for cowards, but some truths would never set him free. Sasori/Sakura. Suna!AU


Disclaimer: I do not own _Naruto_ the manga or the anime.

Pairing: Sakura x Suna!Sasori

Genres: Romance, or something.

Rating: T for coarse language and some suggestive themes.

Written for SasoSaku month. Hope you enjoy.

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 _Somnus_

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Over the past few weeks, he grew accustomed to waking up to a weight bearing down on him. Sometimes it was of the transient feelings of guilt for what had transpired the night before, but usually it was just her and the lines of her body draped over the harder ridges of his. Soon afterwards came the feel of fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, and the sound of steady breathing as it coasted along his collarbone.

Sasori blinked away the torpor tugging at his consciousness, and peered down the length of his too-small couch. His expectations were met when a familiarly obnoxious blur of pink and petite set of limbs entangled in his own fell in his line of sight. One of his arms was curved over her shoulders while the other rested on her leg hanging limply off the couch, her shorts hiked to near indecency – not that either of them really cared at this point.

His gaze swept past the pair of empty mugs and mess of paperwork strewn atop his coffee table, landing somewhere amid the glow of fledgling sunbeams streaming through the curtains. He reclined his head back against the pillow, sleep-hazed eyes settling on the ceiling plaster. She had taken to staying well into the morning. While he chocked it up to her own annoying propensity for dragging things out – and the very convenient fact that her guest apartment was just three doors down from his – Sasori knew it was at least in part because he let her.

As to why he did so – well, her guess was as good as his.

Sakura stirred slightly against the crook of his shoulder, nuzzling under his chin for whatever comfortable angle she was unconsciously searching for. Almost unthinkingly, Sasori slid a hand into her hair, nails skimming through the soft pink strands while the other coursed the length of her thigh and past her hips to stroke along the curve of her spine. She let out a small, contented sound, and soon fell back into her easy pattern of breathing. Admittedly, it was amusing how differently she reacted to his touch behind closed doors versus when they were out in public. Not that he was all that handsy in the first place, but just an accidental brush when they walked together or occasions where he leaned into the soothing surge of her healing chakra were enough to make her squirm – never mind how flippant she was about encroaching on _his_ personal space.

But then, she wouldn't seek him out like this if there wasn't something she found the least bit assuring about his touch – about _him_ , weirdly enough. He wasn't in the business of making people feel better, not like her, but she hardly behaved this way with her patients. He supposed she permitted him certain liberties the way he did with her.

After all, he didn't _have_ to let her in whenever he sensed her at his door, didn't have to brew an extra pot of coffee and make hers the way he knew she liked. And she never asked him to sit with her throughout the night to talk about whatever came to mind until she fell asleep – a breakthrough in the labs, dissidence in the Suna Council, missions and subsequent arguments over opposing worldviews that usually ended with him threatening to throw her out on her ass (and never following through with it). Other nights were spent in silence, when one of them was in no mood to weave words into their distracting lullabies, and she would curl up next to him because he would let her.

He let the hand at her back smooth over to lightly trace her ribs, mulling over that last thought.

As with most things, the circumstances that allowed for outcomes like this were the direct results of his actions. But for the first time in a long while, Sasori couldn't pinpoint his exact reasoning for letting things play out this way. His life was one of method and calculations that paved the path toward whatever goal he desired, whether it be to complete a mission or to bring into materiality the innermost machinations of his mind. He had long ago learned that time was too precious to waste on chasing dragons that eluded capture at every turn, and were never worth the trouble to obtain in the end.

It was frustrating how the same (impeccable) logic never seemed to apply to her. What was there to gain from being the solace for her sleepless nights in a foreign village away from her loved ones?

 _Nothing is ever so simple, love._

A muffled, barely audible noise pulled him out of his musings. Sasori withdrew his hand from her hair, eyes flickering back to the curtains to take in the brightening daylight. It was still early, but he could already feel the grip on his shirtfront loosen, the pressure easing ever so slightly on his torso. When he shifted his gaze away from the curtains, he found himself staring not at the ceiling, but up at her. She mimed his previous actions, brushing away the wayward strands of hair from her face before letting her eyes flutter open. They drifted down to meet his, and she tilted her head.

"What's with that face?"

"I can't feel my legs," he told her in the flattest tone he could manage while her curves were still pressing down on every inch of him. Her arms bracketed him, long locks spilling over her shoulders just far enough to tease the edges of his jaw.

"Mm…" she elaborated, blinking blearily. Then, after a moment's consideration, she dipped her head low enough to nuzzle his hair. "You should get that checked out."

Sasori felt his brow twitch at her nonchalance. Somehow, it reminded him of the good for nothing, masked pervert he'd once called an enemy and rival. How ironic that where years of brutal confrontation against Konoha's legendary Copy-nin had failed to bring him to his knees, his former student was picking up the slack – and doing a hell of a better job.

"I'll consult my physician once she's done feeling me up," he muttered. On any other occasion, he'd have expected indignation or some other retaliation from her, but the words only earned him a sleepy chuckle next to his ear.

"You wish," she teased before lifting herself into sitting position.

Sasori followed suit, grimacing as he craned his sore neck. He was half a second away from a biting retort when he felt her hands sneak onto his shoulders. A hushed "here" was his only warning before her fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt. So, the part of him wedded to extreme caution was reasonably discomfited by having hands as destructive as hers close enough to cut off his airways; but whatever protest he had dissolved into a relieved sigh at the familiar flow of her chakra unwinding the tightness between his shoulder blades. Caution melted away with the tension, and he found himself relenting. He really didn't give her enough credit for her quick thinking.

She worked in silence, not quick or depersonalized. The way she touched him wasn't like that of a doctor with her patient. It hadn't been for a long time, but Sasori chose not to dwell on that.

Once she finished, her hands lingered, warm on his skin as her fingers laced behind his neck. It took him a moment to realize that his own hands were cupping her sides, holding her in place while his lap was full of her curves. He noted, too, that the blood-flow was back below his waist, and he attributed that to her chakra, too…obviously.

"Better?" She asked, lips curving in a small smile. He didn't return it, but his earlier annoyance had subsided enough for him to forfeit a grudging nod.

"Better," he echoed, pulling his hands away. She took the hint and disentangled herself from him, standing to her feet and twisting her arms above her head.

"Don't think this means you get a free pass to raid my kitchen again," Sasori said, not bothering to avert his eyes as she stretched.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she replied, gathering their empty mugs from the coffee table before pivoting back to him. "Besides, Temari and her brothers made plans for us to eat out together this morning."

Sasori stared evenly at her, blinking slowly as he gaged her words. "By 'us' you mean…?"

Her smile was innocuous as could be. "It'll be my treat."

The look he panned her with couldn't have been anything short of displeased. Good faith aside, he didn't appreciate people making decisions for him. He anticipated a frown, an exasperated sigh or the starting fire of an argument, as was their custom. If only she was that predictable. Sensing his objection, she sobered a bit.

"You don't have to come, if you don't want to. But…it's the least I could do," she said, voice soft, gaze entreating.

He almost wished she would put up more of a fight.

It was absurd how difficult it could be to hold her stare. Sasori had never had trouble meeting people head on before, since it was usually others who squirmed under his scrutiny. But there was something unsettling to him about how honest her eyes were. Such openness got people in their trade killed or worse, and his tendency was to take advantage of that weakness. He'd never understand how she could turn the tables on him and make him feel like the exposed one.

Because looking at her – _really looking_ – meant facing questions he didn't have answers for. About why he let her into his space, and why he put up with the kinks he got in his neck for sharing a shitty sofa ill-suited for even one person to spend the night on. He hadn't slept in his own bed in weeks, but he wasn't about to broach the topic with her. That was one of many unspoken boundaries Sasori wasn't willing to push. Unspoken because he didn't want it to be said. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He opened his eyes again, not realizing he'd closed them in the first place, and saw she hadn't moved an inch. He was making her wait, he realized, with no shortage of irritation toward himself. But the look in her eyes made it clear that she wasn't going anywhere. Not without him.

Something in his expression must have signaled surrender, because another one of those smiles bloomed across her lips. Sakura padded over to him, mugs clinking in her hands as her arms wove around his neck again. She dropped a swift peck on his forehead, whispering a "thank you" before ducking to press her lips to his shoulder, just shy of the ANBU tattoo patterned over the deltoid.

Sasori watched her turn and disappear down the hall to his kitchen, waiting until he could no longer hear her footsteps to run a hand sluggishly down his face. Kakashi was going to kill him. Or worse – never let him live it down.

With a huff, he stood from the couch and stalked off toward his room. Before his fingers enclosed around the knob, he spared one last glance at the front door he always let her in through. For one fleeting moment of madness, Sasori felt old ghosts tugging him back to another door, to older nights spent huddled against its worn wood, listening for footsteps that would never come.

He shook his head clear of the illusion and turned the knob, resolving not to waste any more time dwelling on it. The answer to one question only opened the doors to others, and some doors were better left locked with their truths behind them. Truths that would never be as easy, never as pretty as the lies of indifference, of selflessness and innocence about what they did in the space between the closed doors to his apartment and to his bedroom.

Lies were for cowards who chased dragons and never slayed them, but some truths would never set him free.

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 _Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!_


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